


Never Getting Used To It...

by PanicintheTARDIS



Category: Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Drabble, Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-03
Updated: 2013-02-03
Packaged: 2017-11-28 02:41:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/669314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PanicintheTARDIS/pseuds/PanicintheTARDIS
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sexy times with a dash of fluff. (AKA a smutty, schmoopy drabble by PanicintheTARDIS)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Getting Used To It...

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first sex fic ever, so please be nice and give me constructive criticism in the comments or something?? Special thanks to Cannibalsrus, who is endlessly available to read the random jumbles of fic that come out of my brain at 3am :3

Spencer grunts as he buries his dick in his boyfriend's ass, welcoming the familiar hot, tightness and Brendon's replying groan.

"Fuck!" Brendon sighs, as Spencer starts pulling out and pushing in, keeping the rhythm. Which, y'know, he should be quite good at, considering it's his job...

Brendon's on his back, resting on his elbows with his ass held up by a pillow, to allow "easier access". His erection standing proud between his hips, hard and glistening with pre-come and sweat, rocking back and forth to the motion of Spencer's thrusting, seeking any sort of friction.

The noises Brendon makes, little hitches of breath contrasted with _mmms_ and _ahhh_ s and moans, sound so familiar. They're so close to the fake ones sometimes heard on stage he's with Dallon (Spencer has said and said: "He is  ** _not_**  jealous! He has no problem with it at all, thank you very much."), but they are definitely different.  
They're lower, whore-ish, and originating from somewhere in Brendon's chest.

They turn Spencer on so much, -not that he'd admit it any time soon.  
He's still getting used to being able to do things like this. After all those years of trying to suppress the humongous, visible-from-space, crush he has on Brendon, which Ryan had told him so many times would never work out, and that it wasn't worth fucking up the band over.

He's still getting used to being able to run his calloused drummer's hands over the smooth, milky white, expanse of Brendon's skin, or of being able to squeeze the cheeks of Brendon's magnificent ass, and watch the pink marks made by his fingertips fade slowly back to flawless white again.

One thing Spencer knows he'll never get used to the feeling of though, is of that beautiful ass around his cock, clenching and un-clenching as Brendon shakes his way through an orgasm, his cock softening and growing sticky, spewing come all over the dark speckle of hair trailing downwards from his belly button.

After that, Spencer never can hang on for much longer. Watching Brendon come is too much.  
So he lets go, and his orgasm crashes over him. He's pretty sure he lets out a whore-ish groan to compete with Brendon's, but considering he isn't at all in control of his speech anyway, (the only comprehensible words that have left his mouth for the last however long are Brendon's name, and streams of random profanities) it doesn't matter all too much.

With the last remnants of his energy, he pulls out, and pulls off the used condom, ties the end, drops it into the wastepaper bin they keep by the side of their bed, (Note-to-self: empty the trash before they have any guests over who might see) and then goes to fetch a washcloth to clean Brendon up.  
When he comes back, Spencer finds him in the same position he'd left him in, except with one arm up and tracing a finger around his left nipple, making his body spasm with the orgasm still fresh in his system. Spencer would rather be causing that spasm himself with his tongue on Brendon's nipple, but that feels like slightly too much work, so instead he crawls up and curls himself under Brendon's arm.

He nuzzles into Brendon's armpit, enveloping himself in the smell of his sweat, which is a thing Spencer has smelled so often -what with the obtuse amount of sweating Brendon has always done- that it's surprisingly comforting and not actually that disgusting.  
Brendon leans over and presses his lips to Spencer's hair, humming contentedly, before setting his head back on the pillow and closing his eyes.

In return, Spencer whispers a little "I love you" into the tender skin of the side of Brendon's ribcage, accompanied by a gentle kiss, and then closed his eyes, too.

He's suddenly overcome by the feeling of warmth and home and happiness, and therefore can't help but fall into a trouble-free, post-coital nap.


End file.
